


The Obligations of Words

by Usagi3x4



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, My First Fanfic, Uni!lock, feelings are hard, kind of a poem in prose form, poetic mentioning of drugs and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagi3x4/pseuds/Usagi3x4
Summary: No, he doesn’t need to love Victor, no matter how tedious the effort of keeping him around is.  No matter how every forced ‘I love you’ chips away something inside of Sherlock he cannot name.  He doesn’t need to love anyone, really.





	

Click-a-click.  Followed by the sound of the pen scraping against paper long enough to circle the designated letter.  Click-a-click.  The blessed, but far too brief, silence as the next exam question is read and the (assumed) correct answer is selected.

 

Click-a-click. Pen against paper.  Click-a-click.

 

Sherlock feels a fiery stab of irritation bloom behind his breastbone and glances at the man sitting next to him from the corner of his eye.  Victor, like all of the other students in the lecture hall, sits with his attention focused on his exam.  However, unlike all of the other students, Victor’s thumb hovers threateningly over the top of his pen until he eventually chooses his answer an—Click-a-click. The scratch of the pen. Longer this time.  Ah, Victor has completed the multiple-choice section and moved on to the essay portion of the exam.  Finally.

 

Sherlock turns his attention back to his completed exam and decides to keep his brain from rotting by writing in some ‘helpful’ observations to the professor in the margins.  Dull.  Boring.  Tedious. Why did he agree to wait for Victor to finish his exam?  “Because Victor asked,” a voice sounding uncomfortably like Mummy replies, “and that’s what you do when a person who loves you asks you to do something you don’t necessarily want to do, but you do it anyway because you love them back.”

 

But Sherlock knows he does not love Victor. He says the words ‘I love you’ to the other man and performs the standard social interactions of affection demanded by society.  But the ‘I love you’s only come easily from Sherlock’s mouth shortly after the piercing of his vein.  Any statement of the sentiment forced from him at any other time leaves Sherlock feeling hollow.  Resentful. Irritated. But he does it to keep Victor.  He does all of the exhausting work of saying and doing the right things to keep a satisfying sexual partner.  To keep a reliable and convenient access to the only thing that brings him peace.  To keep from being alone.  Sherlock knows that it doesn’t matter who those things come from; as long as he has them he will force out ‘I love you’ as many times as he has to. He will--

 

Click-a-click.

 

Sherlock holds back a growl of annoyance at the noise, the sound echoing down the halls of his mind palace.  The habit is especially annoying today.  As is the amount of cologne Victor is wearing.  How close Victor is sitting.  How Victor’s feet slightly turn out when he walks. How easily Victor says “I love you” and how Sherlock knows he _means it_ and Sherlock finds himself wishing that he meant it when he said it too.

 

He had tried loving Victor.  Hadn’t he? He knows everything would be exponentially less tedious if he did.  Easier. He knows he would be _happier_ if he did. If he could…

 

Sherlock feels an icy pit on anxiety form in his stomach, the movement of his pen stalls to a halt. Is he even capable of love?  Obviously he has to suffer through the negative emotions of anger, annoyance, loneness… Sociopaths don’t have to feel anything, so it wouldn’t be fair if he can experience the unpleasant emotions but can’t experience the positive emotions of happiness, contentment, love... However, upon further consideration, the vulnerability of love could only act as catalyst to make the aftermath of loss exponentially more painful and prolonged.

 

Sherlock suddenly thinks of Redbeard.

 

The scorching, piercing pain radiating from his chest was quickly suppressed. Sherlock immediately takes back his wish.  It would be easier to love Victor now, to get through the daily tediousness of obligation to maintain their relationship.  But later, when Victor leaves (and Sherlock knows it was only a matter of time) it will be much easier then. 

 

The sudden warmth and weight of a hand on his knee ignites a fiery burst of annoyance and Sherlock turns his attention fully to Victor. He gives Sherlock a smile before removing his hand to start packing up his things.  Sherlock huffs instead of speaking the cutting insult resting on the tip of his tongue, idly rubbing at the trouser covered skin Victor had touched before standing and shoving his belongings into his bag. 

 

He doesn’t wait for Victor before heading to the front of the room to turn in his exam.  He doesn’t care if Victor is behind him or not, really.  But then it would make the mind-numbing exercise of waiting for him in the first place be for nothing, so Sherlock pauses at the doorway.  He resists the urge to pull his hand free when Victor takes it into his own as they begin their trek towards Victor’s room.  Hopefully where a reward for completing the mundane task he agreed to purely out of obligation will be provided.

 

No, he doesn’t need to love Victor, no matter how tedious the effort of keeping him around is.  No matter how every forced ‘I love you’ chips away something inside of Sherlock he cannot name.  He doesn’t need to love anyone, really.  After all, he is sure there isn’t anybody he _could_ love—outside of those sharing his genetic makeup, and that was purely due to evolution; the need to form a bond with your caregivers to ensure survival.  There certainly isn’t a person in existence that could relieve him from the tediousness. The boredom. The loneliness.  Not a single individual in the whole of the human race where saying, “I love you” wouldn’t be forced.  Wouldn’t be a lie. 

 

Sherlock wonders briefly at the heavy ache deep inside himself as a result of these revelations, but he quickly crushes any further thought on the matter.  Thankfully, Victor is getting out his kit and Sherlock lets the excitement and longing rush through him at the sight. He focuses on the need that radiates from the center of his body and seeps it’s way to his limbs as his release is being prepared.

 

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers as he unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve, and this time, he knows he actually means it.  He doesn’t bother listening to Victor’s response.  He wasn’t talking to him anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fan fiction, and the very first fanfic I have ever published on the internet, so please be kind!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you LynneyGinnyJoan and Minako1x2 for beta-ing and your support!


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